


Bloody Objects

by loquaciouslass



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors
Genre: One-Sided Attraction, Other, Unwanted Advances, Violence, Wizzro likes violence and he likes violent people, interplay of sex and violence, volgas done with this shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 11:10:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11057721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loquaciouslass/pseuds/loquaciouslass
Summary: Wizzro lusts for nothing but destruction. When the little Skull Kid’s mask suddenly reveals itself as alive though, Wizzro starts to lust for something else entirely, and is willing to do anything to get it...





	Bloody Objects

**Author's Note:**

> i. yeah. this was a joke on tumblr and now its. hm. this.

The thing was, it should have been an easy win.

The Skull Kid was tricky, yes, mischievous with a wellspring of magic at his fingertips, but he was still a creature of straw and mud. It should have been easy for Wizzro to kill him. To burn him alive and watch his fairies scream, because the Skull Kid had magic but Wizzro had _skill._ And above all else, he had drive. He had his pleasure, right in front of him, when the kid was on the ground, lit up only by the cold glow of Wizzro’s magic.

So what happened?

Well, what _physically_ happened was simple. The vast wellspring at the Skull Kid’s fingertips transformed into something large, angry, and very defensive. Wizzro ended up slammed against the ground before being pinned by something with burning eyes scratched into its exposed muscle.

What mentally happened was that Wizzro’s magic, the souls inside him and every fibre of his being _sang_ , like a chorus of redeads calling out for prey, because there was _pure magic_ standing above him, crushing the breath he didn’t need out of him, and exposing every single inch of a slap-dash form put together from sheer, unyielding _rage_.

“Do not,” it snarled, voice like marbles clattering on a glass floor, “think to harm this puppet.”

And then it was gone. The Skull Kid, too, was gone. There was nothing but a faint buzz of magic left in the air, a thunderstorm waiting to happen and Wizzro was dazed enough to only faintly realise Volga was overhead.

He landed in the mud like a brick in water, splattering Wizzro’s robes. He could only muster a faint fire in return. Volga didn’t even bother to pat it out.

“What was that?” He said, “You were cackling up a storm about how simple it would be to defeat the child. And here you are, in the dirt.” Volga nudged him with his toe. Wizzro sighed. Volga stepped back. “Wizzro? I do not enjoy your company, but you are acting _very_ strangely-“

“Do you,” Wizzro said, “know what lust feels like?”

Volga paused. His face turned the colour of soured milk and it was twisted in such a way that it looked like he’d probably drank some. Volga opened his mouth a few times, creased his brow, and finally held up his hands in surrender.

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

 

Weeks passed, and the beast didn’t appear again. Not for lack of trying, of course- Wizzro stalked and spied on the Skull Kid as often as he could. He hid in bushes when the kid was fighting, he made a bee-line for the brat on the battlefield, he even orchestrated circumstances to try and pull the monster out. But it didn’t appear.

And the kid was annoying, because no matter how much Wizzro cornered him, he never acted any differently. It was like the thing had been nothing more than a figment of his own imagination. He grumbled over his books at the thought. Strange things could happen when fair folk got involved, after all. But it had felt cripplingly real.

“You’re spending a lot of time here.” Someone said, cooly, from behind him. Wizzro spun. Ghirahim was there, because why wouldn’t he be, carrying a thick book on weapon care and some sort of bright stone. Wizzro narrowed his eye.

“What, am I not allowed to develop my craft? I’m studying.”

“Studying what?” Ghirahim leant over. Wizzro threw himself over the book.

“It’s private!”

“Soul removal- why on _earth_ would you need _soul removal_ magic?” Ghirahim said, jabbing his finger at the tiny writing. “It’s inefficient at _best_ , how are you going to use that in a war?”

“We take prisoners, don’t we?” He said, pushing the book over. “Imagine, removing the soul out of that annoying hero boy, or the little kid, or that wonderful thing the Skull Kid keeps inside him-“

Wizzro froze. Ghirahim had dropped his book on the table. His mouth was tight.

“You what.”

Wizzro thought a thousand thoughts. How to phrase this properly. How to say it in such a way that Ghirahim wouldn’t immediately run to Cia or Ganondorf, or even cut him down outright. “I,” he said, “have a theory about the dead brat.” He moved off the book, slowly, running a finger along the neat print. “He has too much raw power for something of that size. Ah-“ he raised a hand before Ghirahim could interrupt, “I don’t mean that he’s a secret great fairy. I don’t’ even refer to the play-magic he likes to use when he’s mussing up your cape for the third time that day. I mean,” Wizzro turned the page and jabbed the diagram of uses, “he has _two_ souls, somehow, and that second soul has more magic and malevolence than he. So _I_ propose that I catch him, pull that second soul out, and then burn him alive because he’s a pest.”

Ghirahim had pressed his lips into a very thin line, and one of his brows was raised.

“Right. Well. Yes, counterpoint…you’re wrong. You are completely wrong. You are so wrong, in fact, that I am stunned you can’t recognise like for like and am now debating throwing you into a volcano because you are amazingly, disgustingly incorrect.”

Wizzro paused.

“And your proof is..?”

“Going to take a volunteer, give me five minutes.”

 

Zant looked somewhere between confused and tired when Ghirahim snapped back into the library with him in tow. He squinted at Wizzro, then at Ghirahim, and then at the book.

“I think Master Ganondorf would be better suited-“

“Yes, yes, I know.” Ghirahim said. “But this is a demonstration of _basic_ principles, not advanced magic. The curses would interfere too much.”

“I don’t think I can lift you.”

“I can support my own weight, you just stand there and look pretty.”

“I will play to my talents.”

Wizzro gagged. They didn’t even have the gall to keep it to the bedroom. Of course, what was worse was that he could feel that bubbling warmth coming up in himself, thinking about what that grotesquery could do to him if he only gave it the chance. It was disgusting.

Ghirahim clapped his hands together. “Yes, well, time for the lesson. Now, I understand that you tend to get bored, so I shall keep this swift and simple. _Do_ let me know if this is too confusing.”

Ghirahim was going to wake up with molasses or blood in his face. Whichever would upset him more.

“We,” he said, gesturing to himself and Zant, “are, at the moment, two separate souls. We have two distinct sources of magic. Are you following?”

“I’m going to lick all your jewellery.”

“Glad you understand. Now, if I do this,” he grabbed Zant’s hand and moved closer. “Our magic may look strange to an outside viewer. Like you. Because we are close.”

Molasses and blood. Possibly with some bees.

“Now watch _very closely_ , Wizzro.” Ghirahim sniffed and in a second, he was a sword, almost as tall as Zant, who now had one hand awkwardly pressed to the blade. Ghirahim switched back. Zant’s hand didn’t move. “As you may see, when _I_ decide to _share_ my power, it seems an awful lot like we’ve combined. But we haven’t. You do not need to try and rip out anyone’s ‘second soul’. Do you understand now?”

Wizzro thought. He thought about the monster and its confusing fleshiness, and he thought about its eyes and how he had-

Definitely-

Seen those eyes before. Wizzro smacked himself upside the head.

“I am an _idiot_.”

“Yes, I’m glad we agree. Now go away.”

 

The kid wasn’t calling on it himself, and it wasn’t _his_ power, which made it much easier. There was a half-formed plan in Wizzro’s head. It involved a lot of fire.

In the end though, he didn’t need it.

The battle was wild, Volga overhead and raining death on anyone who dared to come between him and the hero look-a-like; Cia spreading her forces far and wide while Ganondorf tore through the crowds, laughing all the way. Their bones were little more than dust at his feet. Wizzro followed, picking off stragglers or pushing them together, letting his allies cut them apart.

And in this little group, it just so happened the Skull Kid was there. His fairies carried magic along and the gentle ocarina notes were alien against the roar of battle. Ganondorf had nothing but some stalchildren between him and the kid, and they were going to fall.

It should have been an easy win.

But the clouds parted and the angry moon showed its face.

And the ocarina notes drifted into tuneless wailing.

And Ganondorf, with a whip around his ankle, suddenly went _flying_.

The Skull Kid was still there, of course, and so were his fairies. As a matter of fact, the fairies were more prominent, hovering around the head of something very tall, with the Skull Kid settled on its shoulders. He wasn’t wearing his mask.

“I knew you liked me really!” He chirped, like it was perfectly normal for a demon to give him a piggy back and throw a seven-and-a-half-foot man several meters into the dirt. The thing snorted.

“Demon Kings that have no issue turning metal to origami shapes and leaving tracks like a boar with a death wish can shatter the wood from which I am made in minutes or seconds.”

A pause.

“The large gentleman over there could break me like a woodchipper and I am not dying because you can’t dodge.”

“Then why am I on your back?”

“Be quiet. The king rises.” 

Sure enough, Ganondorf shot up, snarling, rubbing the blood from his nose. The newcomer didn’t move. The Skull Kid squirmed until he had his arms resting on its head, comfortably tucked between its horns. Ganondorf glared.

“Cheap trick, kid. How long did it take you to build this puppet?”

“Mmm…” Skull Kid drummed his fingers down. “I stole it off some guy a few weeks ago…So I don’t know! They don’t always do this though.”

“Hmph. You shouldn’t be playing with toys like that.” Ganondorf strode up, pointing his sword at the monster’s neck. “If you cannot save yourself, get off the battlefield and give _this_ power to me.”

“No. They’re my tall and awful friend.”

“I am not your friend.”

“They are my tall and awful friend who hates being called my friend.”

The thing rolled its eyes. Its face was frozen, outside of those eyes, but the rest of its bleeding body seemed to make up for it. It looked like it had forced itself to develop a nervous system.

It also loomed over Ganondorf, even when it was slouched over. Wizzro floated forwards, between the sword and its broad chest, and took one of its hands. It looked down and blinked at him.

“Please step on me again.”

Silence fell in their little corner of the world. The Skull Kid blinked. Ganondorf blinked. The big beast blinked.

“What?” Ganondorf broke the silence. “What are you _doing_ -“

“You’re a disgusting bloodied monster that comes out of nowhere and I want to swallow every ounce of your magic until you’re a withered husk that can do no harm.” Wizzro sighed. “What do you say?”

Wizzro wasn’t expecting a particularly positive response, but he was at _least_ expecting it to try and fight him.

He did not expect it to do an acrobatic pirouette off the _fucking handle_ and kick him into the middle of Volga’s fire-stream.

 

He had no idea how that battle ended, and he hardly cared now that Volga and Ganondorf were taking turns lecturing him about focus. Not only that, but Ghirahim was staring at him, very smugly, from the corner. Wizzro huffed and crossed his arms. That thing was going to fight him. One day it would have to, if it didn’t want to be woodchipped. Though that, thinking about it, would probably be just as much fun as fighting it. Watching its life slowly ebb away at his hands, watching it switch between shapes to desperately preserve itself and failing so miserably that it could do nothing but beg.

Now that was an interesting thought.

Something monstrous begging at his feet, begging for whatever scrap he would give it, on a tight leash just to preserve its own life. The words around him faded to nothing, and he scrunched his eye up.

What would matter to it enough that it would stay off the Skull Kid’s face? Not power, certainly, because it _had_ the chance to be with the Demon King and had, at worst, ignored him once danger passed. Not magic, either- the monster only seemed to come out when _it_ wanted to, when it’s life was in danger or maybe-

Maybe when the Skull Kid was in danger. That would make sense. Sentimentality was the greatest weakness in this world, in Wizzro’s mind, the sort of thing that left princesses alive and warriors returning to collect the dead. And seeing that everyone _else_ seemed to have at least a smidgen of fondness, or loyalty, or whatever they wanted to call it for _someone_ in the war…

Then it would probably make sense, whether it wanted to admit it or not, that it would help the Skull Kid.

The very flammable, mischief prone, Skull Kid.

 

The storm had been brewing for days. Thick clouds caked the world, choking out the sun. It wasn’t a surprise when the lightning started, striking whatever weapons were left on the field.

Wizzro was out. Specifically, he was waiting.

The forest was a prime target for lightning, after all, lightning that could be guided towards a particularly annoying child and his friend.

He floated, quietly, between the trees. The rain was deafening.

The Skull Kid was playing his ocarina when Wizzro descended on him in a flurry of flame. He yelled and hopped away, sparks flickering around him. “What is your problem, weirdo?!” He shouted, summoning magic to his hands. “Leave us alone already!”

Wizzro laughed and lightning crashed into the trees nearby. The fires steamed up the forest, and soon magic flew- he could see the fairies, fine, and tracking the kid by his eyes was simple-

If only there weren’t three of them to keep track of!

He hissed when the purple one smacked into the back of his head, sending the souls into overdrive, but only for a second before his sister blinded him with light. The rock followed from nowhere, flinging itself straight into his gut and pinned him up by a tree.

He grunted. The kid came into view, fairies flanking him on either side. The mask was right in front of Wizzro’s face.

He snatched it away, and laughed.

“Do you even know what you _have_ here?” He cackled. “This thing! This lovely little thing that-“

The mask made a horrible snapping sound, like ice giving way, and Wizzro’s hands burnt. There was fire crawling up his arms, and flesh surged along solid magic.

Hot breath hit his eye and a face cracked into view. This time it was not frozen. This time, its face was pulsing, furiously, and every one of its needling teeth was plain to see. Wizzro’s whole body tingled.

“You’re exactly what I was looking for,” he purred, long tongue dripping, “ _exactly._ ”

It paused, nose wrinkling.

“What.”

“Bloodlust! Magic! A burning soul and you’re wasting it on a _kid_? Hah!”

The lightning hit yet another tree. The thing’s face was softly lit by the fires in the distance. It was glistening, either because of the rain or it hadn’t bothered to grow skin. It reeked of blood.

“…What.”

Wizzro struggled out of one of its hands and gestured along its body. “You! You’re just like me! Pure black magic! You can make yourself _physical_!” Wizzro cried with glee, before splitting his face into a smile, “and, I must say, I _appreciate_ the _physicality._ I’d _love_ to eat you alive.”

The thing blinked at him. Then it let go of him, and slumped over, before slipping towards the Skull Kid and whispering. It was rather impressive, considering the height difference.

The kid vanished into the bushes. The thing took a deep breath and sighed.

Then it roared and slammed Wizzro against the tree so hard that it cracked. His jewellery rattled, leaves fluttering down in the rain, and the drops steamed when it hit its muscle.

“Insulting thing! A ring that doesn’t listen to a word that’s said to it, clinging to stronger things in the hopes it won’t fall apart or be left in some blackened hole!” He hissed as it slammed him again. “You and I are not alike, not even _slightly,_ and the only person that could feel lust for you is a combination of desperate and _sick_. Tell me, why would _I_ , a creature once worshipped and desired and thrown aside should _remind myself_ of flawed times by engaging with _you_?”

Its nostrils were flared out; Wizzro could almost see fire spilling out. It was like looking up at a supernova.

“My tongue is longer than Ganondorf’s dick.”

“ _UGH.”_

It dropped him and pinched its brow. Wizzro hovered up to its face, tongue lolling from his mouth, and patted its arm. “I could eat you alive and it would be the best experience of your _life_ before you died. I could perform a concert of destruction with your power and mine!”

“You know what? Fine.” It said, pushing Wizzro away. “Fine. I’ll play with you. But,” it raised a finger, “do _not_ get my poppet involved-“

“Did you say poppet?”

“What? No-“

“You did!” Wizzro cackled. “I was right! You are weak for that little kid!”

“I am _not_ -“

“Don’t _worry,_ sweetheart, Poppet will be _perfectly_ safe, I’m not into kiddies. You, on the other hand? Oh I can’t _wait_ to watch you burn out.” He stuck out a hand. “If you’re calling it a game, fine, I’ll play. Before you die, I’ll have you _screaming_ for more.”

“Doubtful,” it said. “But fine. Let’s play.”

It shook his hand. Its face had returned to that frozen form, but this time it wasn’t a mask- it was a guard. Wizzro grinned and pulled it down, pushing their mouths together and slobbering all over its face. “How’s that for a preview?”

It just stared at him. Eyes like the sun burning holes in his robes.

And then it kicked him so hard he flew out of the woods and into the field. Wizzro grumbled, pushing himself out of the mud and shaking as much of it off as he could. Fine. Of course the hottest piece of meat in this place would be some kind of picky diva.

Ah well. At least he _had_ something to aim towards now. A good fight, more chances to see that thing and its magic. More chances to see _it_ at all, naked and leaping…

Ah, there was the warm feeling in his belly again. Wizzro smiled.

He needed a whip, some long-range spells, and a bottle of love potion.

Oh, and learning its name would probably be a good idea too.

But that could wait until later.


End file.
